The Passenger Seat (How it Ends)
by piemakeseverythingbetter
Summary: Author's version of how Supernatural ends. Warning: Major Character Death (and then ...) Some cursing.


The Passenger Seat (How It Ends)

They aren't supposed to end this way. This is what peals in Dean's head in this last desperate moment they have.

Not like this.

They are supposed to go together.

The apocalypse averted, thanks to them. Again. Monsters defeated, returning to the hell where they belong. The world allowed to keep spinning. The crisp leaves of fall drifting down. Cars on highways. Families at breakfast tables, children griping about school, people on their way to jobs.

They have no idea how close they came to no longer existing, to the earth ending in a ball of a fire.

Yet none of this matters to Dean. All that matters is the man lying across him, the blood coming from his torn open middle. The stuttery, uneven breaths tell Dean all he needs to know.

Sam is dying. Sam is dying without him.

"Dean," his brother whispers, a weak hand grabbing at his sleeve. Dean holds him tighter, checks desperately the wounds and prays for some sign of salvation. There is none. "I'm sorry."

This seems the most incredulous thing his brother can say. "For what?" he spits out.

"For leaving you."

Shit. He doesn't want to hear this. He can't think about the after, when Sam is dead and he is left to walk this earth without him. His own personal apocalypse.

"Remember- you promised me." Sam's voice weakens. Dean can hear that part of him is already gone.

"What?" he chokes out.

"No deal. No crossroads. This time you let me go."

This is no surprise. They have discussed it, but Sam knows Dean might be desperate enough to forgo their plan. He won't though. He won't break this promise. Dean rests his head against his brother's and nods.

"One more thing," Sam says. "You have to find Lisa."

"She won't know me."

"Cas can fix it so she does. Or you start over. You at least try." He gasps a little, and the gurgle that accompanies it slices Dean's heart in two.

"God, Sam."

"Promise." Strength in that word. Damn, his brother is one stubborn son of a bitch.

"Okay." His voice breaks now, like he is broken.

They lie together, holding on—though, in truth, Dean is the only one with any strength for holding. The sun climbs over the trees, heats their faces, shines light on a new day that the rest of the world gets to have.

Dean hears how Sam's breathing is slow and shallow. It won't be long now. He reminisces with his brother, the happy times they had growing up. The time Sam poured itching powder in Dean's shorts. His first prom date and finding the used tuxedo from the Goodwill store. Each of these memories hold a special place inside Dean, tiny shelves he won't be opening again.

Sam's hand reaches up for his face, feels the tears there, falters down to grip the amulet around Dean's neck. "Think I'll see Mom and Dad?" he whispers.

He sounds all of five years old. Dean presses his mouth against his ear and says firmly, determinedly, "Yes," because he knows there's a heaven and nobody deserves it more than his brother.

"Thank … you."

"For what?" Dean asks.

"For… all of it," Sam says, and his hand falls away.

Dean grips him harder, wanting to hold him to the earth but he can't. Dean has only one word left in him, the word that says everything, the word that means love and so much more, the word he may never say again.

"Sammy."

* * *

Dean does what he promised. No deal. Hunters gather from across the country for the pyre, which Dean builds himself. He doesn't say much to anyone, nods when they offer words of comfort because he is grateful that they care, but there is no comfort to be found.

Bobby is at his side, watching him like he's a wild dog that might turn, or a crystal vase that might break, but he is neither. He is empty inside. A shell walking through his days.

Cas doesn't show, nor does Jack. He's a little pissed about that, though he isn't sure why. Even Cas can't fix what's wrong now. There's the niggle of worry, too. Cas fought to save them from his realm. Did he survive the battle? And what happened to Jack? Did he even end up on the right side?

He has a pain in his lower back that never goes away. It happened during one of the fights with the demons. He got tossed against a wall and damaged a disk. The same fight had left Sam with that cut on his cheek that left a jagged scar. "I look like a bad ass now," Sam had joked.

Part of him is mad at Sam for leaving him. He knows how irrational it is, Sam would never leave if he had a choice, but still, Dean is the one who is left. There's a big wake after the pyre, everybody piling into Bobby's where beer and whiskey is generously poured and toasts to Sam resonate like bell chimes. Dean stays for as long as he can stand it, which is about thirty-three minutes. He sneaks out when nobody's watching, climbs into Baby, and drives away.

He has Lisa's address. He's kept up with her, covertly, since leaving her and Ben in the hospital with no memory of who he was. They may not remember but he does. He doesn't want to see her yet, though, because he's not whole enough. One day he'll go to her because he promised, even if it's just to lay eyes on her and make sure they're okay. But not yet.

He drives north, Baby's wheels eating up the asphalt, a window open to let in the cool fall air. The passenger's seat is empty. So goddamned empty.

Maybe time on the road will help him pull his shit together. He goes to the Appalachians, which are spectacular in their fall colors, and it helps a little. He hits his first snow in Tennessee, a white fluffy blanket that glistens in the sun. He parks and walks a bit, thinking Sam would love it, picturing his brother smiling like when he was eight, and convincing him to build a snowman, which would, because it always did, evolve into a snow fight.

He climbs back into the Impala before those memories shatter him.

He spends Christmas by himself in Missouri. The cold is hard on his back, so he spends a few days in a hotel room icing it and drinking whiskey. Bobby calls, asking him to come visit, but he doesn't want company. "You hear from Cas?" Bobby asks.

"Not one damn word," he replies.

"Hope he's okay."

Dean closes his eyes because Cas better fucking be okay.

* * *

New Year's Eve finds him in Illinois. Baby needs a new set of tires and he scrapes together enough money hustling pool to buy her the best. She is all he has now. She's a little battered like he is, dented on the right fender, scuffed on the back bumper. One day he'll get her all fixed up. He wished he could do the same for himself.

When he's near Chicago, the snow piling on his windshield in a gray sludgy mess, suddenly he is not alone. A man in a raincoat appears beside him, his elbow propped against the window. "Hello, Dean," Cas says.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean spits out. Anger is easy for him because it's always there, just behind his teeth, aching to get out.

"Helping you prevent the apocalypse. It took its toll."

Dean casts a sideways glance at the angel, checking him out. He looks thin and beaten. "You okay?" he asks worriedly.

"Mostly." Cas stares straight ahead.

"Mostly? Care to be more specific?"

"I bear scars like you. Healing from something like that takes time."

_If it's even possible,_ Dean doesn't say. "What about Jack? Any news?"

"He's been with us. He fought beside me. He's proving himself despite, well, everything that happened before. You would be proud of him."

"Good." Dean exhales. "That's real good."

"I'm sorry about Sam," Cas whispers.  
"Yeah." Sorry. That word has been said a million times since Sam's death. People mean well.

"Lisa is in Cleveland, Ohio," Cas adds unexpectedly.

"What? How the hell do you know about that? Did you see Sam? Did he tell you?" Hope flutters inside him that maybe Cas has laid eyes on his brother in the afterlife.

"No. But I know what he'd want for you."

"Cleveland?" he says incredulously. "What the hell?"

Cas hands him a slip of paper. "Here's where she is. She remembers you now; your coming will be a very welcome thing."

An itchy silence settles between them. "Are you really okay?" Dean wants to blurt out how much he's missed his friend, even ready to risk a chick flick moment, but the words don't come.

"Neither of us is okay, are we? But we will be. Go to Lisa. Go now." Cas vanishes. A blink, and he's gone.

"Shit." His hand reaches for the passenger seat, now empty again.

The next day he drives to Cleveland, Baby sure-footed in that messy snow. He doesn't open the slip of paper with Lisa's address until he hits the city limits. When he reads what Cas has written, he mutters, "shit" because the address is "Mayo Clinic, Room 405."

Who's sick? Lisa? Ben?

He drives straight there, freshens up and shaves in a men's room before taking the elevator to the fourth floor. He sucks in a breath before knocking on the door. A man opens it. About Dean's age, bald, lean, a shadow of beard on his chin.

Dean takes in the empty, unmade bed and unexpectedly panics. "Lisa here?"

"They took her for more tests."

Dean exhales.

"Who are you?" the man asks, not unkindly.

"Dean Winchester."

"Dean," the man repeats, looking a little stricken. "Wow. She'll be so happy to see you. I'm Walt Perkins."

"What's her situation, Walt?" Dean asks, desperate to hear yet also dreading it.

Walt blinks at him. "Not sure I should say, but she shouldn't have to be the one to tell you." He pauses, draws a breath. "Glioblastoma. That's an aggressive brain tumor. Stage four."

"Shit." Dean leans back against the wall, needing it to hold him up.

"She's been a fighter. That's her way, of course."

"When did she find out?"

"It's only been a year. They gave her a month when they diagnosed it. She's hanging on like a trooper."

"You're her … husband?" Dean asks.

"No. A friend. I mean, we started dating right before this happened. I fell hard," he adds with a little shrug. "She keeps telling me to find someone else but that hasn't worked for me. She got under my skin right away, you know?"

"I do know," Dean answers with a weak laugh.

Walt checks his watch. "She'll be back in a couple of minutes. A few things you need to know. She has some cognitive problems—speech is slow, but she hears and processes just fine. Tires very easily. Some movement impairment on her right side. I don't want to dump all this on you but it's better for her if you're not surprised."

"Thanks." Dean catalogs all this, tries to picture the Lisa he loves with this new information. There's no time though, because the door opens, and Lisa is wheeled inside.

Dean stoops down, meets her eye-to-eye, ignoring the shiny scalp lacking hair, the gaunt look to her cheeks and neck. "Hey there, beautiful," he says.

She reaches weak arms around him and he scoops her up, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. "Dean," she whispers.

The nursing assistant and Walt help her get into bed. Walt kisses her forehead and says he'll give her and Dean some privacy, then leaves them.

Dean holds her hand and she tells him, in faltering words, how Ben is in college now, doing great. He tells her about stopping the Apocalypse. "Wish you … could stop… mine," she says, with humor, with no bitterness.

Once again, Dean is sliced in two.

"Where's Sam?" she asks.

He doesn't want to tell her. Doesn't want to unload that on her in these precious moments.

"Dean?" Her hand fumbles out of the sheets to find his face. "Oh no. How did it happen?"

And it is then, in that moment, that he crumbles. The tears he wouldn't allow over these months burst out of him, and she pulls him to her. She has always reached the softest parts of him.

He tells her how Sam died, how he felt life slip from his broken body. How he'd wandered since, unsure what to do, who he was without a brother beside him and a hunt to take on.

"I'm sorry, baby," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."

These words comfort him.

She tires and drifts off to sleep. Dean stays at her side, holding her hand, savoring every second he gets to have with her. If only he'd come sooner. If only Cas would pop in to save her, though he knows Cas isn't strong enough or he'd have done it already.

Walt returns, bringing a sandwich for Dean to eat. He's a decent guy, Dean decides. Worthy of Lisa. He will feel her loss as much or more as Dean.

The doctor arrives at sundown. Lisa awakes to hear the test results. The tumor has grown. It's affecting a part of her brain that controls involuntary things like breathing. He doesn't say it but they all know she doesn't have long.

"I'm going to call Ben," Walt says, and Lisa nods.

Lisa drifts off again, her fingers twined in Dean's. He loves this woman. Has since they met. Grief knocks at the door to his heart but he's not ready to grieve her yet. He has to be strong while she still needs him.

He's tired but won't let sleep come. He has these moments to cherish and won't squander them on sleep. He studies the planes of her delicate face and imagines the life they might have had. The one his brother wanted for him.

It never would have been his life though, he knows that, because he is not that Dean anymore.

He is not a Dean who can be happy in this world.

* * *

An hour later, the door opens and Walt returns, accompanied by a six-foot man with black hair and tears streaking his face. "Ben?" Dean says.

Ben grabs him, holds on so tight that Dean can feel his pain deep inside.

"I'm glad you're here," Ben says. "I wanted to call you but she wouldn't let me."

Dean pulls him even closer. "You got so big," he whispers, hoping to lighten the mood.

Walt says, "He's on the soccer team at the U."

"Really?" Dean steps back to look his would-be son up and down. "Wow, kid."

"Pre-med major," Walt adds. "Straight A's."

"Not quite," Ben comments with a shrug.

"Close enough," Walt replies.

Lisa stirs and Ben goes to the other side of her bed, grabs her hand and bends close. "Hey, Mom."

Walt lingers at her feet, gripping the footboard. Dean looks at the two men that love Lisa as much as he does. Who aren't ready for her to leave them, and it's their pain that hits Dean like giant wave.

This is unfair. So fucking unfair.

And in the wake of that wave, he makes a decision.

He slides a hand over Ben's shoulder and says, "I need to step out for a bit," a quick nod to Walt, and Dean slips out of the room.

He goes to the parking lot, which is mostly empty at this late hour, pulls what he needs from Baby's trunk, and begins the summoning ritual, the one he knows by heart.

Billy doesn't come.

He repeats the process, yells her name to the stars. Where the hell is she? He knows he's done it right and she fucking owes him.

Suddenly he feels a presence beside him. It's Cas again, looking worried. "Dean? Why are you summoning a reaper?"

"Why do you think? You knew Lisa was dying."

"You're trying to make a deal for her? I was in the room, Dean, when you and Sam promised not to do that again."

"No deal for SAM. That was the agreement. We never said anything about anybody else." Dean steps closer. "I have to save her, Cas. Ben needs her. So does Walt."

Dean takes a deep breath and adds, "And honestly, Cas—I don't belong here. Not anymore."

Cas studies him closely. "Why would you say that?"

"I'm done. I just don't have it in me anymore. I'm going through the motions. That's all."

"Dean—"

"Sam's not here, Cas. That's the bottom line." He closes his eyes against emotions that bubble up. "I shouldn't be here without my brother. I don't want to be here without him.

"And now I have the chance to do something good for Lisa and Ben. I've got to. It's the right thing. I know it is." Dean speaks with conviction. This is his new truth and he will hold to it with all the strength he has. He owes Lisa and will gladly buy her life.

"Where's Billy, Cas?" Dean implores.

Cas closes his eyes.

"I'm right here." Billy appears beside them. They discuss the deal. Dean won't get a year, but that's fine. He doesn't need it. He bargains for one day. Cas is quiet during the negotiations, looking unhappy but relenting.

When the deal is sealed, Billy vanishes, and Cas shakes his head. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"About as much as I ever do," Dean says with a laugh, but a load has lifted. He climbs into Baby. Cas doesn't follow, and when Dean checks again, his friend is gone. He doesn't go straight to the hospital but drives to the river. It's a beautiful. One can hardly believe that it once caught on fire, just like the world did. He calls Bobby and a few other friends. He doesn't tell them about the deal, doesn't say goodbye, but they'll know soon enough. "You sound good, son," Bobby tells him. "Almost back to your old self."

"Almost," Dean replies.

Almost there.

* * *

A few hours later he goes back to the hospital. Walt greets him in the hall, a grin splitting his face. "She's better! We don't know how but she's so much better! They're taking her for scans now."

"That's incredible," Dean says.

Ben comes from the room and steers Dean away, leaving a puzzled Walt waiting.

"You did this, didn't you?" Ben's tone is an accusation. "You used some magic or some other shit and she's better. Which means it isn't real."

Dean stares, his mouth open.

"Mom told me about what you do. Why you left us. About the demons and monsters and everything else. She got tired of my nagging and she wanted to make sure I looked after myself."

Dean nods, it makes sense. "I made a deal," he whispers. "But it's not temporary. It's real, Ben. She's going to be okay."

Ben blinks, takes a step back, hits the wall. "Jesus. You mean—she's well?"

"Yes." Dean smiles at the kid, sees how he has suffered and how desperate he is for this news.

"And you're here? You're staying, right? I mean, now that Mom's better—"

Dean lays a hand on his shoulder. "One thing at a time, Ben. Your mom is better. But no, I can't stay."

Ben scrutinizes him. "You love her."

"I do."

"But you … have to hunt again?"

He doesn't tell Ben the truth, partly out of cowardice. "Something like that. Let's go see if Lisa's back."

She is. She's sitting up in bed sipping tea with a hand that does not quake. Walt is beside her, still with that funny grin on his face. "Doctor says it's a miracle! There is no trace of the tumor. None. It's like something magically zapped it away," Walt says.

"Something like that." Lisa looks at Dean, eyebrows arched. "You guys go get some lunch. I need a few minutes with Dean."

Dean bends to kiss her and she holds on tight. "I know you did this," she whispers. "What did it cost you?"

"That doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

He sits, her hand gripped in his.

"Will you stay?" she asks.

"I can't." He glances at the door, sees two figures waiting just beyond. "Walt's a good guy."

"He is."

"He loves you. God knows, he proved that."

She squeezes his fingers tighter. Tears fill her eyes and slide down her cheek. "I can't stand saying goodbye to you."

"Let's not then." He stands, presses his lips against hers. "Be happy, Lisa. That's all I want. You and Ben safe and happy."

He pulls his hand away, smooths the sheet over her.

"I've always loved you," she says. "Even when I didn't know I did. If that makes sense."

He smiles. "I love you, too."

He leaves Lisa, says a quick goodbye to Ben and Walt, not wanting to linger in that new bit of pain. He goes outside to a light snowfall, white fluffs glistening on trees and covering Baby's hood. It looks good on her.

He'll miss his car, the one anchor he has left, and wishes he could drive her to the afterlife.

* * *

Back at the river, he waits. Huddled in his jacket against the cold, watching the snow hit the water, he dares to imagine he might see his brother again. It's a longshot, maybe, because who knows where Dean will end up after he's gone, but he can hope.

The next thing he knows, he's somewhere else. No winter here, just beautiful sunshine that heats his face and neck. He stretches out his arms and notices how his back doesn't hurt. Not at all. It feels glorious.

What is he wearing? Not his usual flannel shirt, but a cotton one that hangs in pristine white on his lean frame. He's clean, too—his fingernails look like he actually had a manicure. He's in a meadow of some kind, with yellow flowers around him, and there's a narrow path that invites him to walk it.

He's barefoot, which is odd, but he steps onto the path, wondering where it will lead.

"Hey, Dean." It's Cas again, not wearing his raincoat, but dressed in a similar shirt to Dean's.

"Where am I, Cas?"

"Where do you think?" His smile is easy and sure.

"I don't think this is hell. That's somewhat of a miracle."

Cas doesn't answer but points down the path. "That way."

"What's there?"

"It leads to your heaven."

Dean takes off down the path. He comes up on a small yellow house with a wide porch in front that holds two white rockers. Petunias overflow from wide planters. He runs up the steps and opens the door. He hears voices and follows them, finds his parents in the kitchen preparing a meal.

His PARENTS, looking whole and happy and together. "Mom?" he stumbles over the word.

"There you are!" She beams at him, comes over to hug him, followed by Dad. They are warm and young and smell like sunshine.

"Just in time for dessert," Dad says, and pulls another plate to join the two on the table. "He always had a knack for not missing food."

Mom pulls a pie from oven. A PIE, and it smells luscious. He breathes it in, smiles at the two of them as they nudge each other as they cut into the pastry. Steam rises and moistens their skin.

Dean looks down at the table. Three plates there, not four.

"What about Sam?" he asks, his smile faltering.

"How big a slice do you want?" Mary asks.

"Dad, where's Sam? Where's my brother?"

"Cut him a big one. He's gotten skinny," Dad says to her.

Dean backs away. A flutter of anxiety morphs into a surge of panic. "Where is Sam?" he demands.

"Sam? I don't know," Mary says. "Do you want ice cream with that?"

This is wrong. It's all wrong. Dean barrels through the house yelling out his brother's name but no answer comes. He runs out the front door and bellows, "Cas! Cas! I need you!" but he has no idea if the angel can hear him.

What if Sam isn't in heaven? If he's in hell then Dean must go there, too. No way he's leaving his brother alone in that misery. Not again. Damn, this is all wrong.

"Cas?" he says, quieter now, his voice a desperate prayer.

Cas appears again. "What's wrong, Dean?"

"I can't find Sam!"

Cas nods. "He isn't here."

"Shit. Then I can't be here, either. Take me to where he is. Pergatory. Hell. I don't care." Dean is fighting tears.

"Hell?" Cas asks incredulously. "You'd go back there?"

"If that's where Sam is." He wipes his face, braces himself.

"You should have more faith," Cas says. "How many times have I said that to you?" He turns away from Dean and vanishes, leaving him all alone.

* * *

And then he's not. A car emerges in the distance on a road that wasn't there before. The car is big, black, and so shiny it practically sparkles. It approaches like a great beast, stops just in front of Dean who reads the license plate, the one he knows like he knows his own name. It's Baby.

The driver door opens and a tall man emerges. He's clean shaven, his face bearing no scars from the before life. He wears white linen pants and a pale shirt, his hair long enough to brush the collar. He closes the car door and inches closer to Dean, looking timid, almost frightened.

"Is it really you?" It's Sam's voice. It's SAM.

Dean stares, not quite believing, but he sees the tears in his brother's eyes, the slight quiver to his lips, and he knows it's real, THIS is real. "Sammy," he says, and wraps his arms around him.

Sam holds him with the strength of Goliath. Dean feels a little sob hiccup out of his brother and doesn't hold back his own tears. They hold on like nothing dare tear them apart.

"What happened? How did you get here?" Sam asks.

"Later," Dean answers grips him harder.

It's all the heaven he needs, he realizes. With Sam, he is whole again.

When he finally pulls back, he swipes his eyes and stares up at his brother's youthful face. "Mom and Dad have pie inside," he says.

"Pie's good." Sam smiles, reaches in his pocket, and pulls out car keys. "Or we can hit the road."

The keys jingle as Sam tosses them. Dean catches them midair and opens the driver door. It doesn't squeak, and that makes him smile. He slides behind the wheel, starts her up, and pushes a cassette into the player.

Born to be Wild booms from the speakers.

"Where to?" he asks.

"It doesn't matter," Sam answers with a laugh, and Dean loves him for it.

Dean's smile is so big it barely fits inside the car. Sam is beside him.

Sam is in the passenger seat, where he belongs.


End file.
